


Georgian Air

by piningly



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, please prompt me for things and I will love you uwu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 15:31:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piningly/pseuds/piningly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The line of his lips makes his heart stutter in his chest. Leo traces the bow of chapped skin with his eyes, sketching a likeness that he’ll be able to keep in his head for later. Jim’s mouth is slightly open and warm with a smile that can only speak of pleasant dream, and it’s something else. It’s something that calls to him, more than any smirk or demur expression can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Georgian Air

It’s 4:00am, Leo knows this because he’s spent one too many nights awake in this room, and he knows the way the shadows fall, the way his old models send their faint outlines across the wall after 2am when the moon’s shining just so. His chest is hot, Jim’s arm caging him with a show of possession that he hasn’t quite managed to convince him that he doesn’t need. Sometime during the night they’d kicked off the blankets but (and god knows how) Jim’s managed to wrap one around the leg that’s not over his. The slight childishness makes the corners of his lips quirk up, and it’s an awkward angle but who cares - Leo can’t help the need to tilt his head and study his -his—-Jim.

  
It’s only a few seconds later that the other man pushes his nose into Leo’s neck, small murmurs leaving his lips; made up words and phrases and something that sounds suspiciously like his own name. The small show of affection, real affection’s something that they only get like this. It’s different from the taps on the back, the overdone smiles and the way Jim leans in close and whispers hotly into his ear in the middle of the refectory when he knows it drives Leo to distraction. Jim’s clinging to him, the way his arms are curled around him strikes something fierce in Leo’s heart and makes him want to clutch him back and protect him. Even if for the most part, it’s only from himself.

  
“I don’t know what to do with you, Jimmy,” A soft exhale of breath, his words ruffle blonde hair. The boy beside him is a picture in black and white, jaw painted with moonlight and the slight scars that spot his face patched and perfect in grey. The line of his lips makes his heart stutter in his chest. Leo traces the bow of chapped skin with his eyes, sketching a likeness that he’ll be able to keep in his head for later. Jim’s mouth is slightly open and warm with a smile that can only speak of pleasant dream, and it’s something else. It’s something that calls to him, more than any smirk or demur expression can.

  
The air’s hot, dry and Georgian as Leo breathes in. It sticks to the back of his throat and dries the sweat between them as he shifts slightly and leans back into pillows that are a little prickly from the feathers inside them. His neck complains as he leans back, but he ignores it, making a mental note to give himself a check-up when he gets back to Starfleet, because he sure as hell isn’t going to be diagnosing the slight ache in his back as a symptom for getting old, of all things. The warm weight of his lover’s a steady anchor against the end of the world, even if the other man tells him that the only storms he faces are Leo’s expressions (which is very funny, hah hah), and for a moment, in a morning that’s more night than day, Leonard Mccoy feels at peace.

  
…

  
Jim’s stubble’s tickling his chest, spiky and uneven. Somehow, in a bed that’s bigger than the double they both managed to squeeze into back at Starfleet, they’ve still managed to migrate to the very edge, so that Leo’s leg’s almost slipping off the old mattress. He wakes up easily, slipping out of the slight doze he’d fallen into and finding himself staring at the ceiling. His hand automatically seeks out Jim’s head and soon enough his fingers are running through thick, unruly hair that smells a little like sweat, and a little like peaches due to his Gram’s sense of humour and shampoo that costs more than it’s worth (take a piece of home back with you my  _ass_ ).  Leo’s calm, comfortable in worn out sweats, and it’s easy, easy enough that he doesn’t even have to think as he traces his name onto Jim’s scalp with the tips of his fingers. It’ll be invisible, but it’ll be there.

  
Humming, slightly, Leo checks the clock beside him, noting the 5:49 that gleams out blue in the darkness. The fact that it’s light at all is due to Gram’s obsession with old earth digital clocks, but something about it is comforting, even as he shuts off the 8am alarm setting and carefully eases himself out from underneath an arm that’s grasping a little bit at him – like Jim thinks he’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on. He spares a short second for heartbreak, before running his fingers down the golden skin of Jim’s arm.

  
“I’m comin’ back,” Whispered words even as the other man grasps  onto the puffed up pillow Leo’s leaving behind (the imprint of his head still shaping the thing), and he stands up, stretching out and pointedly not listening to the cracks his spine makes. His feet pad against threadbare carpet as he walks over to the adjoining bathroom, pushing the door open with a light ‘whoosh’. His toothbrush is at home in his hand as Leo swipes it over his teeth and stares at himself in the mirror.

  
Perhaps, he thinks, gargling and spitting as quietly as he can, it’s a good thing that it’s dark, because the slight smile that’s curling his lips is one that he hasn’t seen himself wearing in a long time, and it unsettles him a little bit. The brush goes back in the cup, next to Jim’s chosen yellow menace, and Leo makes his way silently (or as silently as possible, not that Jim’s a light sleeper – or, at least, not in this house) to the bed, shaking his head fondly at the sight of sprawled limbs and unused blankets.

  
His weight pushes the mattress down as Leo slides back onto it, springs protesting against his body. He has half a mind to tell the damn thing to shut up, but the thought’s silenced as a sleepy “Whassat?” slips into the air.

  
Leo leans down, pushes Jim’s hair off of his forehead and presses his lips against Jim’s, gently saying Good Morning. Sleepy eyes open halfway, before Jim rubs them and sits up, almost knocking foreheads with him.

  
“What time’s it, old man?” His voice is hoarse and heavy, crusted with sleep and the effects of hot Georgian oxygen as he slumps against Leo’s body like he belongs there. Maybe he does.

  
“Time to see the sunrise, if you want,” Leo replies easily, pointedly ignoring the jibe in favour of discretely checking Jim’s pulse with a soft press of his lips to the other man’s throat.

  
Jim gives him a look, like he knows exactly what he’s doing, but won’t complain because he secretly enjoys everything he’s being given. His skin’s hot and he leans into the slight press of Leo’s palm as he smooths down the muscled arm that’s tense from holding Jim’s weight. No complaints. Wonders never cease, it seems.

  
“Okay, Bones,” Jim’s own fingers guide Leo’s face up, and then he’s being claimed, heavily and undoubtedly, Jim’s mouth hot on his own as he takes Leo’s bottom lip between his, “But,” they share the same air, and Leo barely notices the slightly stale taste as Jim speaks, blue eyes gleaming, “Next time you have to wake me up with a blowjob. 6am’s too early for a holiday.”

  
Leo rolls his eyes, affords Jim a chuckle, and leans back, pressing a button on the bedside table that opens the blinds and lets the faint purple glow of a new morning in. Their bodies fit together easily as the purple becomes pink, Jim’s chest rising and falling the only thing keeping time.

  
It’s 6:43, by the time daylight fills the room. It takes Leo a second to realize that Jim’s fallen asleep again.

**Author's Note:**

> SHAMELESS FLUFF. Also, my first ever Star Trek fic. Hoorah!


End file.
